


claimed by the sea

by gingerteaandsympathy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, bonding over being far from their true home, fluffy nonsense, mermaid rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28604067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerteaandsympathy/pseuds/gingerteaandsympathy
Summary: in which the Doctor makes a discovery about Rose's true nature.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 20
Kudos: 76





	claimed by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> tonight is a hard night. here's something to read while we get through it.
> 
> thanks, thinky, for loaning me your eyes and improving this, as you always do. but, of course, all mistakes are still due to my own shoddy editing.
> 
> title taken from the song of the same name, by french for rabbits.

He picked her up on the planet Earth, towards the start of the new millennium. She was, to his knowledge, a completely normal girl off the estates: perhaps a bit more gregarious than most, certainly kinder, and she occasionally acted with wisdom beyond her years, but on the whole—normal.

He was wrong.

He was frequently wrong, and usually catastrophically. But when it came to Rose, he was just… slightly off-base. And it was perhaps the most delightful way he'd ever been wrong before.

* * *

She'd been traveling with him for over a year now, and she seemed to have taken to it like a fish to water. Nearly every difficulty had been met with that vibrant smile, or at least, her powerful, stubborn determination. Traveling with Rose was almost odd in how easy it was—how natural.

She'd accepted his taciturn nature, and his defensiveness, and occasionally his temper. And then, when the time came, she'd quickly adjusted to his new face and body. She'd adapted to his new demeanor and habits. She’d even seemed delighted by the process, once she got past the initial shock of regeneration.

She was…

Well, she was perfect, really.

He couldn't tell her that, but it wasn't for lack of desire. It was simply not done; it wasn't the nature of their relationship, or even of his _species_. They talked, of course, but not deeply. There were never those sorts of opportunities—right times and places to say, "Oh, Rose, by the way, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and you make me a better Time Lord."

Or, if there _were_ times and places, he had most unknowingly passed them by.

Still, it was with a jaunty little hum and a determination to show his appreciation that the Doctor approached Rose's bedroom. Today, he'd decided, _she_ was setting the destination; she deserved it.

Bouncing footsteps carried him to her door—though it wasn't a door, so much as a heavy cascade of dangling beads and shells, obscuring what he knew to be an equally colorful bedroom. He'd marvel at her lack of care for privacy, only he knew exactly how far away his own room was—to the meter. (It was, he sometimes mused, a bit _too_ far away.) And he also knew that the walls of her mum's flat were rather thin. So, his ship undoubtedly offered more privacy than she was used to, lack of doors notwithstanding.

Sometimes, she played cassette tapes of rain and ocean sounds at night, because the noise of the TARDIS was too unearthly for her.

He knew, because the sound traveled the thirty-three meters between their rooms.

And sometimes—just sometimes—he let the soothing sounds lull him to sleep, too.

Beyond her doorway, from somewhere in the suite, he heard those same noises. Muffled, yes, but undeniable: the crashing of the surf and the faint screech of gulls emanated from within. He wondered if she was still asleep; Rose did like a good lie-in.

He stepped through, the beads clattering musically around him. The bleached tip of a tiny conch shell caught on his lapel before releasing him, reluctantly, into her room.

Her bed was unmade—the warm, yellow-gold sheets recently rumpled—but she wasn't in it. Nor was a cassette player anywhere in sight.

Based on the cracked door to the lavatory, she must be inside—but he heard no water running. There was only the steady, soothing sound of the sea. In fact, he noted, with his palm already pressed to the door, the atmospheric noise was so near and so visceral that it sounded almost like she had a window open, and was looking out over the seaside.

He smiled to himself. The TARDIS always did the maddest things, when it came to her little pink and yellow human. He wouldn't be surprised if Rose _did_ have a window.

"Rose?"

When she didn't answer, he pushed open the door, worried that something was wrong. Was she ill? Had she hurt herself? Was she unconscious, lying on the floor of her own bathroom? His tendency to spiral propelled him through the door, his eyes scanning frantically, catching on—

Well, it was hard to say what exactly he was seeing.

Or, rather, it wasn’t hard to say—it was simply hard to _believe._

He’d never been in Rose’s personal lavatory before; he’d hardly had reason to venture into her bedroom, let alone through any of the doors beyond it. But the TARDIS had outdone herself this time, because the expansive room around him could hardly be called a lavatory at all.

The main feature seemed to be a giant—truly, an _enormous_ —bath, sunken directly into the floor. The entry to the large, circular bowl seemed to be on a gradual grade rather than circled by steps. It was not unlike a little stretch of beach, and no wonder, because—

_Well._

Rose’s body was rocking with the gentle waves.

Whether they were self-generated or the TARDIS had some sort of propulsion system simulating the tide, he couldn’t say. In fact, he could hardly think at all. He was too caught up in the gentle motion—the way she turned to look over her shoulder, away from the open window, which he’d been right about—the TARDIS _had_ installed a gateway to an actual beach.

It was as real as any other part of the ship, though he doubted Rose would know that: she could climb out of that floor-to-ceiling window anytime and sink her toes (he nearly laughed— _toes_!) in the sand, if she fancied.

But she seemed to rather fancy lazing about in the tub, arms propped up on the windowsill, damp hair sticking to her bare back where it wasn’t blown by the breeze.

All of that would’ve been startling enough. Really, he’d never seen such a large swath of soft skin in all his lives, and it had that peachy undertone that she wore so unknowingly on her cheeks when she flushed or laughed. But it was—he really didn’t—

Rose, of course, looked just a bit startled before her lips eased into a familiar smile. “Need something, Doctor?”

“Rose,” he pronounced carefully, “forgive me for noticing, but you have a tail.”

Her laugh was as musical as ever. “Yeah, I do.” She didn’t seem offended, like he’d worried she would be, or startled by the long, gently flared, golden-bronze tail that culminated in a shimmering, spun-glass golden fin—all of which seemed to have replaced her own usual long, tan legs.

So, she was either in shock and needed immediate help—or she’d always had a tail and he’d just never noticed.

The Doctor blinked.

His pale face must’ve worried her, because her brow wrinkled and her tail—which appeared to be about as mobile as her legs, and much more emotive—flapped impatiently against the surf. “But only when I’m in water, obviously.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Obviously.”

Her brow scrunched further as she turned away from her open window and glided through the water. She moved with stunning ease, slipping through the shifting waves like a dolphin would. There was a specific rhythm to it—a stroke with her arms, and then her tail moving to propel her further. Undulating.

“Doctor? You look… you look _sick_ —I know this is a bit of a shock, but—”

“No! No, not—” As his voice cracked, he cleared his throat forcefully. “Not a shock at all. Just a surprise. A nice surprise! _Lovely_ surprise,” he amended, the corners of his lips wrenching upwards. “How, er, how—”

“How does it work?” She supplied, coming to rest on her elbows in the shallows near his feet. Once again, the delicate edges of her back fin twitched in the water, catching the light and glowing golden. “We’re not sure, exactly. It’s hereditary, passed from mother to daughter, for as far back as we know.”

“So...” and he was forced to clear his throat _again,_ which was humiliating, “your mum—that is, Jackie— _she’s_ a _mermaid?_ ”

Rose laughed again, her head falling forward so the tips of her hair trailed through the water, floating like algae on the surface. “Is that really what you want to know?”

“I want to know _everything,”_ he said, rather bluntly.

“Of course you do.” Amused, her tail flicked up, sending water fanning out behind her. It reminded him of when whales shot water out of their spiracles, sending rainbows to scatter and shimmer through the resultant mist. Rose’s smile, too, bent and refracted and seemed to brighten the whole room. “Well, ask away, then.”

He didn’t know where to start.

But eventually, he began.

“How does having a tail _work?_ ”

“Well…”

For _hours,_ he asked and she answered.

He gaped, and she laughed at his amazement.

Rose was tremendously forthcoming about it all, explaining the way her tail moved (she controlled it, but it also had sort of a personality of its own, as a hand might make unconscious gestures); the way she had found out (Jackie, in a shockingly responsible move, had treated it like a normal part of her life until she Rose old enough to understand the transformation and how special it made her); how it felt to change (painless, smooth, like sliding silk sheets over her legs).

Every answer seemed to spark more questions. Could she breathe underwater? (Yes, but only in this form.) Had she ever been caught? (No. She was careful in the rain, and _always_ brought an umbrella—hadn’t he noticed?)

“But what about the humidity in the air?” He asked this with particular worry, and Rose threw back her head again and laughed.

“Are you seriously asking me what _precise_ amount of humidity it would take to activate the transformation? Because that seems like dangerous, secret knowledge, don’t you think?”

But her eyes sparkled, and he knew she wasn’t angry.

As she generously continued to sate his curiosity, he eventually shed his duster—and then his suit jacket—and then eventually his shoes and socks, when he decided to roll up his trousers and dip his toes in. The air, of course, _wasn’t_ humid, like it would be if she were taking a normal shower—which had also come up.

“How do you bathe at home then, in your mum’s flat?”

Rose’s brows shot up, and then she smirked. “Very carefully.”

But still, it all felt like a warm day on the beach. The bright morning—and then afternoon—sunlight streamed in through the open window. The shore beyond the window offered a constant, coaxing breeze carrying the smell of sand, and he felt the insatiable urge to adapt. To participate. To belong to this part of her world, they way he’d come to belong to the other parts.

So, he’d taken off his shoes.

When his skin broke the surface of the water, the Doctor’s eyes widened. “It’s cooler than I expected.”

Rose shrugged. “I like it that way. Mum says it because it feels more like the sea—like our true home.” Her chin dropped to rest on her crossed arms, which had come further up out of the water as they conversed. “The TARDIS always gets it just right,” she added, smiling fondly.

“It’s nice,” he agreed sincerely, albeit awkwardly. He’d always had a hard time slowing down, and this was no different. Sitting still, with his feet in the water—it seemed… unnatural.

The Doctor wiggled his toes and, barely a moment later, Rose’s tailfin twitched as if in sympathy. He almost wondered if she could feel his movements in the water, which seem to be confirmed when Rose rolled in the shallows, a pleasant smile on her lips. The flash of her belly revealed a trail of glittering scales that thinned and dwindled until they were no bigger than grains of sand, like glittering mica stretching up her belly and, more thinly, over her chest.

When she saw him looking, Rose twisted again and receded back into the water, tossing a teasing grin over her shoulder. And then, with the playfulness of a dolphin in a pod, the thin, almost translucent tip of her tailfin brushed against his toes. Like she might nudge his foot under the table when he was being rude.

The feeling was exactly how she’d described—slippery like silk. But he noted other things as well. She was warmer to the touch than the water that held her. The membrane was slightly clinging, like it would wrap and twist into any shape, reminding him more of butterfly koi than the dolphins of his previous comparisons.

It was nothing short of _stunning,_ and he wanted to clamber into the water after her, to ask if he could touch and see and know and, with time, _understand._

Questions continued to crowd his mind, but as the slow, rhythmic surf washed up over his ankles, he knew there would be time for that, and he felt a foreign sense of contentment.

His eyes drifted momentarily closed.

In that moment, the Doctor felt that if he could only rest here long enough, with Rose and the water and the sun, his heartsbeats would slow, his muscles soften, and he’d feel—impossibly—

Still.

In a way he could never _really_ be, with the whole universe swirling around him. But he could trick his senses. He could let himself drift, endless and easy, on the breeze.

His eyes fluttered open, his head tilting her way. There was something he needed to know.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rose went motionless, her body no longer shifting with the water. Her mouth popped open, as if she had something she wanted to say—an instinctual reply. But then her lips pursed. A moment passed, and she apparently thought better of her response, whatever it was.

Then she finally countered: “Why don’t you ever talk about your people?”

_Because it’s personal._

_Ah._ The Doctor nodded. “Fair enough.”

“It wasn’t something I was sure I could share,” Rose admitted, swimming closer after a long silence. “The secret is more than just mine, you know? It’s Mum’s, and before that, it was my Gran’s. It feels like… too much to just _talk_ about.”

“I understand.” And he did. Some things went beyond the capacity of mere words: secrets too ancient and powerful to be permitted escape, no matter how hard it was to hold them. But, as this experience had shown, there was something freeing about finally telling.

It was with a softer voice—a gentleness he was still learning to use with her—that he asked the question that most burned in his chest. “Rose, why do you stay on land?”

She looked thoughtful—like the choice had never occurred to her before.

“Because… it’s my home, too,” she said slowly. “And I love it. And… I love running with you.” He saw the shifting of her eyes by the flutter of her dark lashes, and the color that rose up under the skin of her cheeks.

 _That_ was every bit as fascinating to him, he realized, as the minute movements of her tailfin, the way the light reflected off of her scales.

He was just as curious about the inner workings of her mind—what made her laugh, and blush, and smile, and hide her face in the cradle of her arms—as he was about this new quirk of her biology.

There was so much to know, and to learn, but was it any different than before?

Rose the human was every bit as mysterious to him as Rose the mermaid. And every bit as enchanting.

The Doctor nodded, and did his best to hold her gaze as he said, “I love it, too.”

Her sweet smile was the same as it ever was. Pink tongue slipping between her teeth, cheeks dimpled, nose scrunched invitingly. So familiar, and so integral to his happiness. He was filled with something, then—a wave of courage, pushing him up onto his feet. As he loosened the knot of his tie, Rose’s head tilted curiously.

“I do love the running. But I think,” the Doctor observed, dropping the fabric atop the pile of discarded things. “I’ll love swimming just as much.”

And, with a twitch of his lips and a hope, he walked into the water.


End file.
